Here's something I decided last night:
I hate broccoli. I have decided this many times before and I decided it again last night. I ended up dumping the quinoa and broccoli outside for the chickens' dining pleasure this morning. They can have the broccoli. They can have ALL the broccoli. In the world. The only broccoli I like is over-cooked broccoli with cheese sauce. I don't know why but that's just the truth. I sometimes make a "cheese" sauce with nutritional yeast and that's okay too. And I'd even used a recipe for this damn broccoli. It was oven roasted with peppers and capers and olives and blah, blah, blah and it sucked and when I cut it up and mixed it with the quinoa it contaminated the quinoa so that sucked too.
I ended up making a toasted cheese sandwich with tomatoes and that did not suck.
Oh well. The chickens will eat the broccoli and they will be happy and lay me eggs. It all works out.
God damn. I am the most boring person in the universe. I just wrote an entire paragraph about broccoli.
I need to do something exciting. I WANT to do something exciting. You know what I want to do? I want to go to town and BUY MYSELF AN ANTIQUE RUBY RING! Or, something like that.
Now that would be exciting. I remember how it used to feel when I'd buy myself something a little crazy, a little beautiful. Something which served no purpose whatsoever except to please myself.
Then I quit doing it. I don't remember when and I don't remember why but I haven't done anything like that in so long that...well, I don't remember.
Yeah, I probably won't do that.
I might, however, go buy a tiny Christmas tree. I should go buy a Christmas present or two. Mr. Moon asked me the other night if I'd finished up doing all the Christmas shopping.
I said, "If by ALL you mean none, then yes."
He and I are so witty. Our repartee sparkles like diamonds in champagne would if you were crazy enough to put diamonds in champagne.
Not really. A great deal of our conversation goes like this:
"What? I can't hear you."
"Hold on, I can't hear you."
Actually, most of our conversation goes like that.
We should buy each other hearing aids for Christmas. Man, they should get jiggy with those things. Instead of trying to make them invisible, which makes them look creepy, they should make 'em big and stylish. They could decorate hearing aids for the old men with cammo or team colors and make ruby-encrusted hearing aids for the women.
Look- we Baby Boomers need hearing aids and we like blingy, whimsical shit. It's a good idea.
And somebody will probably start doing it and make a shit ton of money. Not me.
All right. I guess I'm going to go do something. Take a walk and listen to some more of Steve Job's biography. Then maybe go buy a Christmas tree that'll fit in a Prius. Do you know how long it takes to fill up the tank in a Prius? About two minutes. Somehow it still costs sixty dollars. I don't understand.
All right. If you have any suggestions for Truly Exciting Things I Could Do Today, let me know. Keep in mind that I hate to shop, hate to wear a bra, and my husband is out of town.
Happy Friday, y'all.